


the shape of your mouth that first time

by angelheadedhipster



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: FITZ BABY, Kissing, M/M, Punching, Season 1, Ward feels, beautiful broken boys, i wrote this ages ago and am just posting it now, sex is a weapon, sorry - Freeform, waaaaard, waaaaardddddd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2954540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/pseuds/angelheadedhipster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches Fitz’s reaction, the quick emotions that play out across his face. Fitz is terrible at hiding what he’s thinking, always has been. It’s almost like he thinks he doesn’t have to. Ward watches his eyes, watches him go through shock and fear, betrayal and anger, and something more complex than that, something childlike and fragile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The scene in "Ragtag" where Ward surprises Fitz and Simmons, expanded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the shape of your mouth that first time

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after the season 1 finale and never posted it, and now that Season 2 is half done seems like a good time to do so, right? There may be more, now that there are more episodes. I dunno!
> 
> Thanks to [viper3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/viper3/pseuds/viper3) for betaing and cajoling and getting me to finally edit and post this. Also for all the AOS feels when I need them.
> 
> Title from ["Slow Dance"](http://placeinthestars.wordpress.com/2009/04/08/slow-dance-by-tim-seibles/%22) by Tim Seibles.

“We can send Sleepy, he’s our best listener,” Fitz says, and then pauses. “Next to you, of course.”  

Simmons does that little grin she does at Fitz sometimes, a grin that’s also a shrug. Ward feels something like rage in his stomach, watching her.

“Ok,” Fitz says, “I”ll go get him from the car.”

Rage is good, rage he can use right now. He grabs hold of that feeling, pulls it strong and taut, and when Fitz turns the corner Ward is standing there, tall and upright, looking like a bad dream, a force of nature.

“Long time,” he says. “No see.”

He watches Fitz’s reaction, the quick emotions that play out across his face. Fitz is terrible at hiding what he’s thinking, always has been. It’s almost like he thinks he doesn’t have to. Ward watches his eyes, watches him go through shock and fear, betrayal and anger, and something more complex than that, something childlike and fragile. Longing, maybe.

Longing? No, that couldn't be-

“You ARSEHOLE,” Fitz says. He’s still gaping at him, his mouth hanging open, bright red in his pale face. Behind him, Simmons is gaping too, and stuttering, her mouth moving but no words coming out. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think, Fitz,” Ward says. Fitz is smarter than that, come on. He must have known to expect this, or is he really that trusting, all the time? That predictable?

Fitz gapes at him another moment, and Simmons’s hasn’t moved, and then, much quicker than Ward thought he could move, Fitz’s eyes slam down and his mouth tightens and his hand is a fist, and Fitz punches Ward in the nose.

“Ow!” Ward says, before he can hold it back. It doesn’t even hurt that much, although it does hurt, maybe Fitz had been paying attention during academy combat lessons, after all. Mostly its the surprise, though, and he feels vaguely offended. “What the _fuck_ , Fitz??”

Fits doesn’t answer. He’s bouncing on his toes, looking determined. The clear blue of his eyes is in shadow behind his long lashes, and he looks angry. As angry as Ward has ever seen him.

Simmons gets her strength back, a little bit, and her hand is on her gun. Her eyes are wide and she looks terrified, like she’s about to say or do something. Ward can’t handle whatever it is she’s thinking, not now, not when he has been _punched_ , by _Fitz_. He sighs internally, careful to keep his face even, and pulls out the Night-Night gun in his waistband, shooting Simmons with it before Fitz can do anything to stop him.

“You shot-!” Fitz’s voice is a squeak, and the blood is draining from his face. The hollows under his eyes are even more pronounced now as he turns to Jemma.

“It’s ok, Fitz, it’s just an Icer,” Ward says. “See?” And he holds out the gun to him, and points at the bullet that hit her. Blood is still streaming from his nose, dripping into his mouth. The taste of iron and metal, sticky and familiar. “She’ll wake up back on the bus.”

“Are you going to shoot me, too?” says Fitz, folding his arms over his chest, but he looks calmer, the panic easing out of his shoulders. He’s back to being aggressive and mad, but its a better look on him than scared.

“I wasn’t planning to,” says Ward, “but then you _punched me in the face_.”

“You deserved it,” says Fitz, his already clipped pronunciation sounding even more foreign, more reserved. “You know you did.”

Ward brings a hand up to his mouth, wiping at his nose, and then looking at the blood on his hand. His own blood.

“I can’t... I still can’t believe you,” Fitz says, and he’s so upset, his eyes are big and his skin is starting to get blotchy. He’s moving closer now, gesturing with his hands, and Ward can see that they’re shaking.

“I can’t believe this is really you. That these are the choices you’ve made,” Fitz says.

“I made my choice a long time ago,” Ward says. “This is just following through.”

“I don’t believe that,” Fitz says, and he’s shaking his head, vehemently. “Not at all. You care about us, I know you do, I know you-” his voice cracks, and he turns away, looking out the window toward the bus. His shoulders are bunched under his sweater, skinny muscles standing out. There’s so much fury in those shoulders, so much emotion in every muscle, every inch of him. Not for the first time, Ward wonders what it would be like to push Fitz further, to see just how much he could take, what would happen to that open, endlessly expressive face when it went over the edge.

Ward shakes his head, as much at his own thoughts as at Fitz’s comment. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“I do, though,” says Fitz. “I know you, I do. You were….” and he blinks, quickly, but there aren’t tears in his eyes. Just anger, and that same blind, almost childlike want. It’s hope, Ward realizes. Fitz _wants_ to believe in him, wants it so badly that it looks like longing.

“You were everything,” Fitz says finally, and his voice is small now, flat and almost a monotone. “You were what an agent should be, everything I wasn’t. You were righteous, you were good, good at everything. You still are. I…” and Fitz throws his hands up, running his fingers through those tight curls, the fingers that had just broken Ward’s skin. “I thought-”

But Ward doesn’t think he can bear hearing what else Fitz thought, so he kisses him instead, stopping the words before they can get out. Kisses him because there is blood in Ward’s mouth and he wants Fitz to taste it too, to make him understand, to make Fitz realize he doesn’t know Ward at all. Because he got punched and he wants to hit back, wants to keep Fitz off balance, wants to prove that he’s in control here. Because affection is weakness but sex is just another weapon Ward has known how to use for years.

And because he can’t stop staring at Fitz’s fingers, at the bruises now blossoming on the knuckles. They are long and strong and impossibly delicate, and Wards wants to know what they feel like pushing against his skin.

Fitz tenses under him, his hands flying to Ward’s shoulders as Ward wraps one strong arm around his waist, holding him in place. Not violent, just firm. Fitz is completely still under him, and there is blood on both their lips now, blood seeping between them. They are close enough that Ward feels it when Fitz’s heartbeat stutters and jumps in his chest, and then his mouth opens under Ward and his tongue slides between Ward’s lips, so quick and teasing and he licks, through the blood, curling his tongue along Ward’s front teeth. There is no way he could know that Ward loves that, May never figured it out in all their weeks together, but now Ward is tingling all over and Fitz has pulled away, pushed at Ward’s shoulders and stepped back out of his hands.

He’s staring at Ward, his eyes are blue and huge and just look shocked, round and white. There’s blood smeared across his lips now, Ward’s blood, and wipes at his mouth, so red and perfect and swollen-looking, with the back of his hand and then stares at the blood on his hand, just like Ward did. He looks ruined and wounded, and he looks fragile and breakable and incredibly beautiful. There’s a muscle in his neck that’s jumping, hard and tense, and Ward just wants more.

_That was not a good idea,_ Ward thinks to himself. _Not a good idea at all._


End file.
